


The Chain

by Gwendolynn_C



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Break Up, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Non-Binary Tango, Non-Binary Whiskey, Other, Song fic, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendolynn_C/pseuds/Gwendolynn_C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think we should break up.”<br/>Tango probably should have seen this coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Chain](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/202105) by Ingrid Michelson. 



> Title comes from the Ingrid Michelson song of the same name. Written for a tumblr prompt on my blog @holsters-eyeglasses. I've written both Tango and Whiskey as non-binary with no other descriptors, but in my heart Tango agender. And I'm growing to love Whiskey as a trans-masculine demi-boy. 
> 
> Whiskey's pronouns change partway through the story so at the start I use he/him/his pronouns for Whiskey, but after the conversation where Whiskey claims ey/em/eir pronouns, I use those. Mostly I've used this just to clarify that Whiskey *is* changing eir and because the story is written in present tense. Just remember, if you're discussing a real person always use their proper pronouns, even if you're talking about them pre-transition or before they picked their current pronouns.

“I think we should break up.” Whiskey is looking Tango right in the eye with an expression so determined, so aggressive, so fucking heartbroken, that Tango feels all questions fly from his mind.

“I’m sorry.” He sobs. He didn’t know it was possible to go from wary to sobbing in under three seconds but apparently it is. “I know I’ve been jerk for the past couple months but I’ll get better! Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it. I love you.”

“Listen, it’s not just you. You need me in ways that I can’t provide anymore. And I’m not going to promise to be there for you, to be the partner you need, when I know I can’t be that anymore.”

“I don’t need anything!” Tango protests. “I just need you, as little of you as I can get. 5% of you is better than none!”

Tango begs but Whiskey holds firm. Sixteen months of dating and they’re over with just an hour of conversation.

* * *

“I’m going to school in Washington State.” Whiskey says, his voice quiet as always but unusually tight and guarded.

Tango snorts. “Isn’t it a bit early to start thinking about grad school?”

“Not for grad school, for Junior year. Senior year too. I’m transferring.”

Tango smiles because surely his datemate isn’t saying what he thinks he’s saying. Whiskey doesn’t say anything though, he just continues to stare off into the distance in that subdued way of his until Tango’s smile slowly disappears.

“You mean, like, you’re leaving Samwell?”

“Yeah. They’ve got an internationally recognized genetics programs.”

“Samwell has a _great_ science program!” Tango protests.

Whiskey just fixes him with a look.

Tango feels panic closing his throat over. “I thought you were going to spend the summer with me? Do they have a hockey team at your new school? Why would you spend two years building a life for yourself in Massachusetts if you’re just going to transfer across the country? Are you breaking up with me? How are we going to have a long distance relationship? And what-”

Whiskey grips Tango’s shoulder and rubs a hand soothingly down his back. “Calm down. I’m still going to spend the summer with you, I’m giving up hockey, I love Samwell but now that I’m sure I want to be a geneticist I have to pursue that and I _hope_ we can have a long distance relationship. It’s going to be hard but I love you.”

“I love you too.” Tango presses a kiss to Whiskey’s forehead. “I’ve still got some questions though.”

“Lay them on me.”

“Can’t you just stay with meeeee?” Tango moves to straddle Whiskey’s waist and hugs him tightly, possessively.

Whiskey laughs but he doesn’t sound happy.

* * *

“I’m changing my pronouns to ‘ey/em/eir.’” Whiskey tells him.

It’s probably funny, that the only thing Whiskey is wearing is a Non Binary t-shirt ey stole from Tango.

“Is that why you’re giving up hockey?” Tango asks.

“Dude.” The corners of eir mouth twitch angrily.

“Sorry. But is it?”

“First of all, my gender has nothing to do with hockey. You should know that better than anyone.”

“No I know-”

“Secondly, that’s really your first reaction?”

Tango hung his head. “Sorry. I’m really glad you found pronouns that fit you, I know you’ve been struggling with that for a while.”

“Thanks.”

Tango can hear the bitterness in eir voice and that should probably dissuade him but he can’t help but ask. “But really, were you worried that the rest of the team would react badly if you changed your pronouns? Were you afraid, like, other teams and announcers and everyone wouldn’t respect them?”

“Is that why _you_ won’t change your pronouns? Even though I know you’ve hated masculine pronouns and language since you were sixteen?” Whiskey snaps. Ey crawls off Tango’s bed and grabs eir underwear and shorts. “I’m going for a walk, don’t follow me.”

Tango lets his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. He probably deserved that. Whiskey has been visiting Tango and his family for two weeks and Tango knows he’s spent half the time questioning Tango’s choice to transfer. It’s not that he doesn’t want em to follow eir dreams. He just wants em to follow eir dreams closer to him.

* * *

“I think we should break up.”

Tango probably should have seen this coming.

* * *

Tango has three modes: school, hockey and lying in bed. The seniors are worried about him. Chowder says that when he broke up with Farmer it felt like someone had clawed out his insides. Tango doesn’t feel like that. Nursey says that he misses his questions and that he’s had to substitute by playing trivial pursuit. Tango gives him a half smile and asks what time it is. Dex is still in contact with Whiskey and gives Tango updates like, “Ey say eir dorm smells like cheese but otherwise ey like the school.” Tango doesn’t know how to tell Dex that he doesn’t want to hear it.

On Wednesdays Tango doesn’t have any afternoon classes. Chowder and Nursey are making out in the kitchen which is honestly just rude and the frogs have taken over the Xbox. Tango trudges up to his room, slides the chain into the lock to shut the whole world out and flops onto his bed. He stares out of his window, there aren’t any clouds to make shapes out of because the sky is just one shade of steely gray. The Haus shudders under the weight of heavy winds – a storm is probably coming. Tango dreads the thunder and lightning that will keep him from sleeping. He has a rule not to think about his ex-datemate but Whiskey visits him so often in his sleep, it’s like cheating but with none of the responsibility or guilt. (He doesn’t feel guilty about it, really.)

* * *

He calls em over winter break. It goes… mostly well. Lots of long silences and pregnant pauses and “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Tango asks because he can’t just _not_ ask.

“Tango.”

“I mean you don’t have to answer, I was just curious. It’s none of my business, forget I asked.”

“I went on a couple dates with a couple different people.” Whiskey admits. “There was one girl but… it didn’t work out.”

“She’s an idiot.”

“Have you seen anyone?”

Tango shakes his head before remembering that this is a verbal conversation. “No. Junior year is harder and I’ve got to focus on hockey. The frogs are a good group and I’ve kind of adopted one, Crosser, he’s an adorable baby even if he is six foot four.”

“Adorable enough to date?”

“He’s straight, Whiskey.”

“So you’re pining.” And it isn’t fair that Whiskey can still chirp when he doesn’t even skate anymore.

Tango managed an awkward laugh. “No, no I’m not pining. Leastways not for an eighteen year old English major.”

“Tango – you should get out there. You’re a great person and you’re good company. There are some brilliant enby people at Samwell. What about Nat? They’re studying Spanish right? They’re cute.”

“Please stop this is just awkward.”

“Go on some dates.”

And Tango doesn’t tell em that he’ll never love again because it’s dramatic (and true).

* * *

By the time Easter rolls around Tango isn’t sad anymore. He’s angry. The seniors are still worried about him. Chowder says it’s healthy that he’s finally moving on to the second stage of loss. Tango asks for some one-on-one shooting practice and doesn’t let up until Chowder calls “uncle.” Nursey tries to get him to write an angry poem. It’s more ‘fucks’ than anything else and there’s no conceivable rhythm to it. Dex, who’s always been a brawler, introduces him to some basic kickboxing techniques and lends him his punching bag. Tango straight up tells him to fuck off, but he uses the gear.

But as angry as Tango is: at the situation, at Whiskey for moving across the country, at himself, at Whiskey for eir faults and at the world for seeming so callous to his pain. It’s like an ache above his heart and beneath his throat and it only ever goes away for a couple hours at a time: on the ice, in the middle of an exam, while he’s high.

Whiskey slipped out of his life as easily and quickly as Peter Pan left Wendy in London. Tango has distanced himself from strangers and potential future love interests since the break-up. They haven’t spoken in months. A few months ago Tango would have given anything to get Whiskey back. Now he’s so full of bitterness and hurt feelings that he’s not sure if ever wants to see Whiskey again.

* * *

Shouts from outside wake him up.

“WHISKEY WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Tango hides under the covers.

Soon he hears noises outside his bedroom door and he sits up, letting his feet touch the ground.

“I couldn’t just _not_ show up for graduation.” Whiskey is saying. “I love you people and I’m so proud of you.”

“Uh, careful. Tango was napping. He gets grumpy when you wake him up.” That’s Crosser.

“Yeah, I know. There’s no harm in trying though.” Whiskey says.

“Well we’ll leave you.” Chowder says. “Hey Crosser, help me in the kitchen.”

The sounds recede.

There’s a soft rapping on his door.

“Hey Tango?” Whiskey’s voice seeps through his door, calm and warm and achingly beautiful. Whiskey’s soft tenor is a gorgeous and rare gift. “Will you let me in?”

Tango takes a deep breath, crosses the room and slides the chain out of its lock. “Yeah, come on in.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Whiskey and Tango. They're both such mysteries (we don't even know their first names!!) so I hope you liked how I characterized them. Got any thoughts you'd like to share, leave a comment below :)


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